


together, we'll face the world

by soapyconnor



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Scott is going through A LOT, kind of dont know what else to tag? cause i dont wanna ruin it, who am i kidding theyre all going through a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:34:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26433475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soapyconnor/pseuds/soapyconnor
Summary: jeff tracy is dead, and scott has to face the consequences.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 20





	together, we'll face the world

**Author's Note:**

> this might be apart of a series, im not sure. at the very least i wanted this to get out here so people could enjoy it:)  
> if you like it, let me know in the comments or in the askbox on my tumblr, @lieutenantwinters !

The door to the principal’s office was firmly closed when Scott showed up. Alan looked up from his seat, immediately jumping up to run over and wrap his skinny arms around Scott’s legs. Scott leaned down, murmuring to him for a brief moment before he straightened up, and looked at the secretary. She gave him a rather blank, disapproving look. It took everything in him not to flinch. There was no other kid in the room besides Alan. “. . . I . . . assume he did not hurt anyone else?”

The secretary gave a derisive snort. “I am not allowed to speak about the subject.” She turned towards her computer, motioning to the chairs. “You may sit there until Principal Nelson is ready to come and speak to you.” Swallowing harshly, Scott guided Alan over to the row of chairs, and sat down. Alan leaned heavily against him; eyes trained on the door. Scott’s eyes wandered over, briefly, before he jerked his gaze away. He hoped this wouldn’t take long—he had no way to contact John and Virgil to let them know he’d be late, and bothering the secretary didn’t seem like a good idea.

“. . . I tried to get him to stop.” Alan’s words drug Scott out of his thoughts, and he looked down at his youngest brother. At seven, the kid was still incredibly small. There were some kindergarteners that towered over him. “I-I really did, Scott.”

“It’s okay,” he said, running his fingers through his brother’s hair. It was a little sticky, and he narrowed his eyes as he saw strands of glue, but he figured it would wash out when he had his bath. “Did you learn anything interesting today?”

Alan bit down on his bottom lip, and just scrunched tightly against his eldest brother’s side. “We were learning about planets today,” he said, and there was a _little bit_ of excitement in his voice. _There we go_ , Scott thought to himself, as he rubbed his brother’s back. “Neptune has fourteen moons, and it’s biggest is called Titan. It’s cold and they think that it’s only one of Neptune’s moons ‘cause it got caught.”

Scott nodded, but then he ruffled his brother’s hair again. “Come on, you already knew that. You and John go over those things all the time. Tell me something you _didn’t_ know.” He made sure to say it lightly, like he was teasing. He wanted Alan to dig deep, to find something that was _actually_ interesting to him. Perhaps to distract him from the reason why they were sitting in the office.

“Um . . .” Alan chewed on his lower lip. “Uh . . . There’s a couple more dwarf planets in our system besides Pluto, and one is named Eris. People think it was originally in the Kuiper belt, but now it’s closer ‘cause of Neptune’s gravity. Then there’s Makemake, and it’s the only dwarf planet without any moons. The last ones we learned about was Haumea, and it’s—”

Alan clamped his jaw shut as the principal’s door opened. Scott could see Gordon’s dusty blond hair through a gap between the man and the door. Scott rose to his feet, and turned to Alan, ruffling his hair. “You’ll have to ask John about more of that stuff, huh? Now you’ve got so much more to learn.”

Alan nodded, and shrunk down into his seat. “Yeah . . .” Scott patted him on the shoulder, giving him a small smile before he turned towards Nelson.

“Scott Tracy?”

“That’d be me,” Scott said, voice wavering only a bit as he reached out to shake the principal’s hand. There was a lump in his throat as he felt the principal’s gaze rake over him. _Judging him—determining his worth_. He forced himself not to waver, not to shift on his feet. He needed to keep making good impressions.

“You look awfully young,” the principal continued, finally meeting his gaze. “How old are you again?” The secretary was looking at him now, and it seemed like she finally noticed that too. Scott wondered how many times he would have to have this conversation, to have to justify that he was the _right_ person for all this.

“Nineteen, sir,” Scott cleared his throat. “But that’s not why we’re here, now, is it?” There was nothing about him that should be causing him to get this . . . _investigation_? He was dressed nice, he had just come from work, and he didn’t _think_ he had been anything but polite and professional.

He was immensely relieved when the principal just nodded. “Yes, you’re quite right. Come along, then.” Nelson stepped aside, and Scott stepped into the room. Gordon didn’t turn to look at him, didn’t even so much as move as Scott sat down next to him. Gordon had a shiner that was beginning to bloom right beneath his eye, but it was the least of Scott’s worries. Principal Nelson took a seat in front of them, and folded his hands on his desk. “I assume you know why I have called you?”

Scott cleared his throat again. “Yes and no. I know my brother has gotten into a fight, but I know no more than that.” Gordon glared down at his shoes. It had only been a week since Scott had bought him those new shoes, and they were already scuffed and torn. Hell, Alan managed to take care of his shoes better than that.

Principal Nelson rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “From my understanding, your youngest brother, Alan, was getting bullied and Gordon stepped in. Normally, I would write this off as a one-time thing and speak to each student to make sure this does not happen again. However, your brother . . .”

Scott tensed. “What did he do?” He turned to his brother, looking for answers he knew he would not get. Gordon was tight lipped as ever, and just scuffed his shoes along the carpet. He turned his gaze back to Nelson. “The other students aren’t seriously injured, are they?”

Nelson cleared his throat. “One student has a broken arm, and the other is missing a couple of teeth.” Scott’s heart leaped into his throat. “Under normal circumstances, this would be an immediate suspension, and a lawsuit would be on our hands. However—” Scott was barely listening at this point. One of his _baby brothers_ broke someone’s arm? His eyes traveled to Gordon, who was still refusing to look at him. “—The students involved have faced suspensions of their own and are known to have aggressive behaviors. Their parents were not surprised, and are willing to let this go. I still expect there to be serious punishments, both here and at home.”

Scott found himself nodding. His head felt like it had been stuffed full of cotton, and like he had taken a bunch of painkillers. None of this really felt . . . real to him. Gordon? Breaking someone’s _arm_? It replayed like a mantra inside of his head. Nelson hadn’t stopped speaking. “We will be keeping him from recess for the next week, and we would like him to see a guidance counselor.” Gordon still had not moved.

“That’s all right with me,” Scott said, hating how his voice wavered. “He will face similar punishments at home.” That got a reaction. Gordon’s hands dug into the fabric of chair, his knuckles going white. Blood was spotted across his knuckles, and some of the skin had been torn open.

“Glad to see we’re on the same page, Mr. Tracy.” Principal Nelson rose to his feet. “You and Gordon may go.” Scott rose, and collected Gordon’s things. Gordon had his arms crossed, and just glared at the floor as they left the principal’s office. They headed to the car once they collected Alan, and only once they were inside was the silence broken.

“What were you _thinking_ —”

“They _started_ it Scott—”

Alan shrunk down in his seat, bag in his lap. The car hummed quietly beneath them, and Scott turned around to face the two of them. He only had sights for Gordon, who was leaning forward in his seat and his brown eyes focused on his older brother. “It doesn’t _matter_ that they ‘deserved it’, Gordon!” Scott was trying _very_ hard not to snap. “You broke someone’s _arm_. You knocked out a kid’s teeth. No matter _what they did_ , you should have just collected Alan and walked away.”

“You didn’t hear what they were saying,” Gordon shot back, “What they were saying about us. About all of us. About _dad_. I’m not going to sit here and say ‘I’m sorry’ that they got their due. They were—” Gordon paused. “You _heard_ what Principal Nelson said about them! They’ve been suspended before, troublemakers!”

“It doesn’t _matter_.” Gordon glared down at the ground, gritting his teeth. “It doesn’t matter what they said about dad—about any of us. I know it hurts, Gordon, I know it does. Don’t you think I’ve had to go through it, too? Everyone here has. It doesn’t matter who _they_ are, Gordon. You don’t _hurt_ people because they’ve hurt you. You’re _better_ than that.”

Gordon crossed his arms, and met Scott’s eyes. “I’m not apologizing.”

Scott shrugged. “That’s fine. But you’re still grounded—no TV, no swimming, no playing outside. Your room. That’s it.” He heard the unbuckling of a seat, and Gordon was suddenly in his face.

“It doesn’t mean anything anyways,” Gordon replied, “Because you’re not _my dad_.”

Slowly, rage began to bubble up inside Scott. _Don’t you think I know I’m not your dad? Don’t you think I **know** that this shouldn’t be how it is? I shouldn’t **doing** any of this_. “You’re right,” he said instead, biting down on all the things he could say instead. “But dad’s not here. And I’m—” He took a deep breath. “Like it or not, but I’m in charge now. You all are _my_ responsibility, and—I have to do what dad would do. And you’re grounded, Gordon.”

Gordon slumped back into the seat, arms crossed and glaring out the window. Scott opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, thinking of what he could possibly say to make this better. Alan wouldn’t look at either of them—he just sat there, picking at the fraying edges of his backpack. Eventually, he just turned around, and put the car in drive.

Virgil and John were sitting underneath a tree in front of the school when Scott pulled up. They clamored to their feet, and Scott flinched as he saw how red their faces were _. How long had they been out there, roasting in the sun?_ Then, a different thought came to mind, once he saw the look of relief on John’s face. _Did they fear the worst?_

Gordon slid over once the door opened, and John joined them in the back. Scott swallowed heavily as Virgil sat in the passenger’s seat. “Sorry, guys,” he murmured, driving away once everyone was buckled in. “There was a bit of an emergency at work I had to take care of.”

Virgil arched an eyebrow at him, but said nothing. Both his and John’s faces were cooling down, now, and were more a bright pink than a stark red that they had been before. “How was school?” Scott asked, trying to remain neutral. He kneaded his hand along the steering wheel, his mind _racing_.

“It was all right,” was Virgil’s reply, and he just _knew_ he was being studied. “How was work?” Scott gave a shrug. He couldn’t be honest with him—couldn’t let him know that Scott had been cursed out by five different people, had been laughed at by some, and was told by _multiple_ that he looked like ‘that dumbass Jeff Tracy’s son’. Couldn’t let any of them know how when he was on his break, he had sat in the small office that managers shared, stared down at his lunch, and wondered if this was all _worth_ it—

Scott slammed on the brakes as a car ran a red light, his right arm shooting out to catch Virgil by the chest and press him back against the seat. Scott’s hands trembled, and he looked in the rearview mirror. Alan’s eyes were so impossibly wide, but John was there, holding his hand and squeezing it. Gordon’s hands were fisted in his jeans. “Are you all okay?” Scott asked, ignoring the sound of a car blaring their horn behind him. Only once he got four nods did he take a deep breath and resume the driver. He forced himself to ignore Virgil’s looks, and shoved every possible thought out of his head, focusing on the drive.

The car sputtered as Scott put it park, taking a deep breath as he listened to each of his brothers clamor out. He counted heads as they headed into the house—and froze when he only counted three. _Did I forget someone_? He thought, panicking briefly before he heard Virgil clear his throat. Scott’s head snapped around to meet his brother’s open brown eyes. Scott swallowed heavily, and Virgil said, “You going to be honest with me now?”

_God_ , Scott thought to himself, _he sounds so . . . So . . ._

Mature. Virgil, at sixteen, was more mature and emotional suited to be in charge of three kids. Scott, at nineteen, wasn’t even suited to take care of himself. “Virgil . . .”

“Don’t you ‘Virgil’ me.” Scott’s jaw snapped shut, his eyes going a little wide at the tone in which he was spoken to. Mentally shaking himself, he forced himself to remember that this was _Virgil_. He didn’t have to parent Virgil. “Tell me what happened at work, and with Gordon.”

“How did you know it was Gordon?”

“He didn’t say a word the whole way home.” Virgil shrugged. “’Sides, I think one of the kids’ older brother is in one of my classes. I heard _something_ about a kid getting their arm broken.” An arched eyebrow was shot his way. “Unless you’re gonna tell me that Gordon got called in for something different.”

Defeated, Scott buried his face in his hands. “He said that Alan was getting bullied. Then they said things about our family.” He rested his chin on the top of the steering wheel. Alan was outside with John, a book covering the older kid’s lap. “I just—” He swallowed. “I don’t know what to do. This is so . . .” He broke off, and closed his eyes, crossing his forearms across the top of the steering wheel. “He yelled at me. Told me I ain’t his dad, so I can’t punish him.” A hollow bark of a laugh escaped him. “Don’t I know it? Don’t I know I ain’t dad? I can never _be_ him, and that’s who they need. In order to deal with all of this.”

Scott motioned outward to the house. It needed a residing badly—the siding was chipping away and had dulled in color. The inside needed work, and everyone was lucky to get their own room. It was small, it was nothing like the island, and it was never going to be.

Turning towards Virgil, he just caught his brother giving him a sympathetic look. Virgil held out a hand, and Scott took it, squeezing it tightly. “I know it’s hard for them. It’s hard for me, too. I just—I wish there was _someone_ here who could help them adjust. Mom, dad, grandpa, grandma— _someone_. But instead, they just have to deal with me.”

“They don’t just have you, they got me too.” Virgil replied, smiling gently at him. The easy, carefree smile that he used to don had long since disappeared, and had been replaced by one that always seemed to hide stress. “You don’t have to hold the burden of this on your shoulders.” There was a pause. “Do you want me to talk to Gordon?”

“You shouldn’t _have_ too—”

“Yeah, both me and you know that that’s not the case anymore.” Virgil leaned back in his seat. “If he has someone to talk to him that’s _not_ you, perhaps someone can show him that you don’t want this, either. You’re not here to replace dad. You’re just . . .” Virgil ran a hand through his hair. “Hell, even I don’t know. But he’s got to know that you’re still our _brother_ , and even though you don’t want to have to act like a parental figure, someone’s got to, and there’s no one else who can do it.”

“Dad could’ve,” Scott whispered.

The air became still between them. Scott wondered if Virgil had ever heard him—hell, Scott was perfectly okay with him ignoring it. It was something he shouldn’t have said, anyways. “Yeah, well,” Virgil said, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. “Dad made his choice.”

They leaned into each other; Scott’s eyes focused on John and Alan, while Virgil’s were focused on his lap. “What about work?” Virgil asked. “Something happen there, too?”

Scott scrubbed a hand over his face. “There was a time where it was annoying to be Scott Tracy,” he said, tilting his head up to stare at the roof of the car. “Now there’s an entirely different reason as to why it sucks to be Scott Tracy.”

“Oh.”

Scott itched at his cheek, and reminded himself to shave.

“Is there . . . is it coworkers making you feel like that?”

Scott shook his head. “No, of course not. They probably only talk about me when I’m not there. It’s . . . it’s the customers. Just . . .” He waved his hands, uselessly. “So many of them make comments on how I ‘look like Scott Tracy’, and how _funny_ it is that my name is Scott. People make comments, and not even realize they’re talking to _me_. It’s just . . .” He slumped against the seat. “It’s odd.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Virgil said, “My science teacher went on a full-on rant about how dad changed the science world, but then went on a rampage about how dumb he was, before he realized that I was in the class.”

Scott lurched away from him; eyes wide. “No! Virgil, why didn’t you tell me sooner? That’s not—”

Virgil flipped up his palms. “Look, it’s between me and him. He apologized, and we discussed some things. Turns out he was related to one of the victims,” he said, before his eyes softened, “You don’t need to go through life fighting for dad.”

“But if we don’t—”

“There is no ‘if’, Scott. The world will move on, and he’ll be nothing more than a blip in the books. At most, they’ll talk about his contributions to science. It’ll . . .” Virgil swallowed. “They’ll forget about it.”

It felt wrong, like they were betraying their dad to not speak up for him when he could not speak for himself. There were only a handful of people who knew what had actually happened that fateful day, and two of them were named Virgil and Scott Tracy. Everyone outside of the group just went on guesswork—shoddy guesswork, from some of the stuff Scott had heard, but guesswork all the same.

“He doesn’t deserve it.”

Virgil shrugged. “Yeah, well . . . not like we can sit there and argue with everyone for hours. News stations will bend our story—the GDF would have our hides if we so much as spoke to someone without their knowledge.” Virgil’s eyes softened. “I know this is hard. It’s been hard on all of us. But that stuff at work—what the customers are saying—it’ll stop. It’s just . . .”

“Fresh,” Scott breathed. “I know.”

John and Alan were still sitting on the front step, although Alan had nearly climbed into the older kids’ lap. Scott wasn’t so sure how he was able to see anything he was reading, but John looked . . . calm. Happy, even. The middle child had consistently looked sad, or withdrawn. It was something Scott was going need to talk to him about, but every time he nearly got there, something else happened. Normally—actually, always, it seemed—it’d have something to do with Gordon in which it’d prevent him from doing so.

Scott scrubbed a hand over his face. He really wasn’t qualified for any of this, was he?

“Do you want me to talk to Gordon?”

Scott ran his hand along the leather steering wheel, and Virgil waited. Scott thought he probably looked like a rather pitiful sight—dressed in his work clothes still, sleeves rolled up and smelling like the grocery store. Hell, if it were a couple months ago and Scott saw himself, he’d wonder just what the _hell_ happened to him to make him look like this. “You don’t have too—”

“You act like talking to one of my brothers is going to kill me, or it’s like, a pain in the ass or something.” Virgil flinched as he realized he slipped up, but Scott didn’t have it in him to discourage the use of that vernacular.

Scott chewed on his bottom lip, tearing at his lip. “I . . . I’d appreciate it if you did,” he murmured, pressing the heel of his hand hard into an eye socket. “But don’t feel like you have to. Gordon will come down from it and I’ll talk to him again.”

Virgil waved a hand. “I think you’ve done enough talking, and he’s not going to want to see things from your perspective.”

Scott arched an eyebrow. “You act like he’s going to see it from your perspective _so_ much better.”

Virgil gave a wink. “I’ve got a certain way with words that you don’t, Scotty.” Lightly, he thumped his fist against Scott’s shoulder. Then, he gathered his bag and jumped out of the car. Virgil paused momentarily to peer over John’s shoulder at the book, and said something to the two of them before he disappeared inside.

Scott lowered his head, and pressed his forehead against the top of the steering wheel. It was unfair. The entire situation was unfair to his brothers. They deserved to be under the care of someone who knew what they were doing, who was stable enough emotionally to be able to help them through this. Yet, they were stuck with him. Barely a year out of high school and was taking care of them. He loved them all, more than anything in the world, but he was not ready to have the custody of four children.

_Grandma Tracy_ , he thought to himself, as Alan scrambled away from John and headed into the garage, coming back with a bucket of chalk. _We could really use you right now_.

He sat in the car for a few minutes longer, just enough to watch as John propped up the book against the side of the step, and the two began to draw diagrams of space along the sidewalk. Scott wondered, briefly, about John’s relationships with other students. He was quite intelligent for his age, was a few grades ahead of where he should be, but he often was amusing their youngest brother and could be found talking or playing with him. Was it affecting him in anyway? Scott constantly considered the possibility that he was fucking up his brothers in irreversible ways—ways that he wouldn’t even realize until it was too late.

The car door swung heavily shut behind him as he rose to his feet. Alan and John didn’t look up, and from his spot by the car door, Scott could see that John was carefully creating the red eye of Jupiter. Alan was studying the photograph in the textbook, and was attempting to get the color just right. John looked up as Scott approached. “Having fun?” Scott asked.

John nodded, before glancing back at the youngest. “He’s certainly excited about space.”

Scott, amused, glanced at Alan, who at least tried to look a little embarrassed. “That’s good. Looks like we’ve got two astronauts in the family, huh?”

Something funny flickered across John’s gaze, and John abruptly looked away. Scott bit down on the inside of his cheek, and wondered just what _exactly_ John was thinking. Scott crouched down next to John, studying the way the middle child’s hand shook as he continued carefully coloring in the red eye. He placed a careful hand on John’s shoulder. “You’ll both get into space,” he murmured, quiet enough as to where Alan couldn’t hear it. “I promise.”

“. . . Dad promised that, too,” John replied. Scott’s heart leapt in his throat, and the pounding in his ears almost drowned out John’s whispered, “And look how that turned out.”

Scott rocked heavily back on his feet, his throat feeling like John was slowly squeezing the air out of him. Scott knew he was saying something, but his own words were drowned out by the pounding in his ears. Months on, and it was still a struggle for him to hear stuff like that. How all of their dreams had changed because of one faulty accident.

John watched him as he rose to his feet, and he could feel Alan’s gaze on him as well. “It’ll . . . it’ll all be okay,” was at least _one_ of the things Scott could actually hear himself say. He stumbled into the house, heavy on his feet. Neither Gordon nor Virgil were anywhere to be seen, but he saw Gordon’s door was closed.

Letting out a sigh, Scott picked up Gordon’s discarded backpack and put it on the hanger. Momentarily he rummaged through to see if he had any homework, but upon finding none, he zipped the bag up and let it be.

Flopping down onto the couch, Scott found the remote and turned the TV, running a hand through his hair. He flinched as the news popped up first—the major headline still running: _TRACY INDUSTRIES LAWSUIT_. It had been running for nearly two months, still a topic everyone wanted to stick their nose into. The reporter was behind her desk, hands carefully folded over the top. “. . . While Tracy Industries is already in the process of being dismantled, and there is talks of other companies stepping in to buy out what’s remaining, there is quite a few questions that still remain. Where will the lawsuit be redirected to? Many of the industries employees’ lives were taken in the crash, as well as many civilians. Will the lawsuit then fall onto the shoulders of Jeff Tracy’s eldest son?”

Scott flinched as a photo of him and his father popped on the screen. It was an old one, probably about four or five years old. He swallowed heavily as the reporter continued, “. . . Mister Tracy’s son has already attempted to make things right—having gave up most of their assets as well as money in reparations for the accident. But will it ever be enough?”

_I’ve given you everything_ , he thought, as interviews with the victim’s families came up. His face flushed of all color. _I’ve given you all everything I had. Everything **we** had. There’s no more I can give. You have it all_.

Scott could give them his life, and it wouldn’t be enough. He wasn’t his dad; he did everything he could to try and atone for what had happened. As far as he knew, the organization that he had set up with the remainder of their inheritance had helped the impacted town and families begin to recover. But here they were—asking more from him, from his brothers. He thought about how long it would take until one of them found out where they were currently living—how long until the families requested that he be fired and let go.

Scott scrubbed his hands over his face, and ignored how hard his heart was racing. He had been called by numerous reporters, asking for his story, wanting just a bit of his time so they could turn around and drag him through the mud. No one seemed to understand that this was hard for all of them—they had lost their father, their one remaining parental figure, to something that should have just taken his own life. Instead, it nearly took out an entire town, and most of his workforce with it.

The door to Gordon’s room creaked open, and he immediately changed the channel, glancing up to see Virgil making his way over to him. He sat down on the couch, and offered Scott a smile. “How is he?” Scott asked in a low voice, eyes glancing quickly to Gordon’s room.

“He’s . . . upset.” Virgil replied, running a hand through his hair. “I think he’s taking it harder than Alan, you know, with the whole understanding why dad’s gone. It’s like he doesn’t realize that dad never . . . intentionally left us. That this wasn’t what he wanted.”

Scott looked up at the ceiling, and gestured to the TV. “Everyone seems to think that he was a menace to society, who had us all fooled under the guise of wanting to change it for the better.” He couldn’t even bring himself to shrug. His heart hurt too much. “He’s going to believe whatever they say. Going to believe the mantra that has been spewed at him.”

Virgil shook his head, and Scott interrupted him before he was able to speak up. “He is, Virgil. Whether we like it or not, Gordon—he’s _angry_ with what happened. He’s stuck in the anger phase while the rest of us are just . . . in various other stages. So, he’s taking his anger out on dad, because dad’s the monster that the world needs right now.”

Virgil was unable to look Scott in the eye, and Scott loosened his tie. “Sorry,” Scott muttered, “I shouldn’t have said those things.”

“But you’re right,” Virgil replied. “You’re right. It’s why our teachers are speaking about him like that, that’s why customers are talking to you like that. One of us was bound to start feeling the way society feels about him.”

Tears pricked at Scott’s eyes. “Yeah, well, it shouldn’t have been _Gordon_.” Out of all of them, Alan and Gordon were going to suffer the most from this. Neither would have any memories of their father, and anything they do remember is going to be tainted by the accident, by what everyone has to say about it, because everyone’s going to think that they know more about what their father was like than them. It should have been Scott, or Virgil, who were susceptible, not the two youngest who had to deal with schoolyard bullies and not being able to know any better. He buried the heels of his hands into his eyes, and rose to his feet as he felt Virgil’s hand rest against his shoulder. “Fuck, sorry, I shouldn’t be putting this all on you.”

Virgil rose up along side him, and tried to block him from heading to the bathroom. “You need to talk to someone about this, Scott, or you’ll go mad.”

Scott gave him a tired, angry smile and spread his hands out at his sides, and shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, well, I shouldn’t be putting it on my little brother now, should I?” He glanced towards the front door, and saw John peeking in before he darted back once he noticed he had been caught. “Just—don’t worry about any of this, Virgil.”

“You think I’m not going to worry?” Virgil responded, as he followed Scott to the bathroom. He stuck his foot in the door, preventing Scott from closing it. “You think that just because I’m seventeen it means I can’t handle any of this? You shouldn’t be doing this alone, Scott—”

“—We both know I shouldn’t be doing this at all. I’m not _dad_ , I’m not nor ever will be fit enough to be a parent.” Scott pointed out in turn, swiping at his eyes, “Just—don’t worry about _me_.”

“I don’t know if you’ve forgotten, but I’m your _brother_ , it’s my job to worry about you—”

“It’s not your job, and it will never be your job to watch out for me,” Scott retorted, before he managed to get the door closed. He turned the lock, and prayed he hid the key good enough from Virgil that he wouldn’t be able to unlock it.

Scott considered turning on the shower to muffle himself, but upon thinking of the already expensive water bill, he forced himself to grab a towel instead, and buried his head into it, muffling the broken sobs that ripped through him, not knowing that Gordon was curled up against the wall closest to the bathroom, ear pressed up against it, listening to him silence himself.


End file.
